Enter Cleremont.
Cler. 'Tis the little Lawyers voice: has he got my way?
It should be hereabouts.
Din. Ye dry bisket rogue,
I will so swinge you for this blasphemie—
Have I found you out?
Cler. That should be Dinants tongue too.
La-wr. And I defy thee do thy worst: O ho quoth Lancelot tho.
And that thou shalt know, I am a true Gentleman,
And speak according to the phrase triumphant;
Thy Lady is a scurvy Lady, and a shitten Lady,
And though I never heard of her, a deboshed Lady,
And thou, a squire of low degree; will that content thee?
Dost [thou] way-lay me with Ladies? A pretty sword, Sir,
A very pretty sword, I have a great mind to't.
Din. You shall not lose your longing, rogue.
Cler. Hold, hold.
Hold Dinant, as thou art a Gentleman.
La-writ. As much as you will, my hand is in now.
Cler. I am your friend, Sir: Dinant you draw your sword
Upon the Gentleman preserv'd your honour:
This was my second, and did back me nobly,
For shame forbear.
Din. I ask your mercy, Sir, and am your servant now.
La-writ. May we not fight then?
Cler. I am sure you shall not now.
La-wr. I am sorry for't, I am sure I'le stay no longer then,
Not a jot longer: are there any more on ye afore?
I will sing still, Sir. [Exit La-writ, singing.
Din. I look now you should chide me, and 'tis fit,
And with much bitterness express your anger,
I have deserv'd: yet when you know—
Cler. I thank ye,
Do you think that the wrong you have off'red me,
The most unmanly wrong, unfriendly wrong—
Din. I do confess—
Cler. That boyish sleight—
Din. Not so, Sir.
Cler. That poor and base renouncing of your honour,
Can be allaied with words?
Din. I give you way still.
Cler. Coloured with smooth excuses? Was it a friends part,
A Gentlemans, a mans that wears a Sword,
And stands upon the point of reputation,
To hide his head then, when his honour call'd him?
Call'd him aloud, and led him to his fortune?
To halt and slip the coller? by my life,
I would have given my life I had never known thee,
Thou hast eaten Canker-like into my judgement
With this disgrace, thy whole life cannot heal again.
Din. This I can suffer too, I find it honest.
Cler. Can you pretend an excuse now may absolve you,
Or any thing like honest, to bring you off?
Ingage me like an Asse?
Din. Will you but hear me?
Cler. Expose me like a Jade to tug, and hale through,
Laugh'd at, and almost hooted? your disgraces
Invite mens Swords and angers to dispatch me.
Din. If you will be patient.
Cler. And be abus'd still: But that I have call'd thee friend,
And to that name allow a Sanctuary,
You should hear further from me, I would not talk thus:
But henceforth stand upon your own bottom, Sir,
And bear your own abuses, I scorn my sword
Should travel in so poor and empty quarrels.
Din. Ha' you done yet? take your whole swing of anger,
I'le bear all with content.
Cler. Why were you absent?
Din. You know I am no Coward, you have seen that,
And therefore, out of fear forsook you not:
You know I am not false, of a treacherous nature,
Apt to betray my friend, I have fought for you too;
You know no business, that concern'd my state,
My kindred, or my life.
Cler. Where was the fault then?
Din. The honour of that Lady I adore,
Her credit, and her name: ye know she sent for me,
And with what haste.
Cler. What was he that traduc'd?
Din. The man i'th' Moon, I think, hither I was sent,
But to what end—
Enter old Lady.
Cler. This is a pretty flim-flam.
O. La. I am glad I have met you Sir, I have been seeking,
And seeking every where.
Cler. And now you have found him,
Declare what business, our Embassadour.
O. Lady. What's that to ye good man flouter? O Sir, my Lady.
Din. Prethee no more of thy Lady, I have too much on't.
Cler. Let me have a little, speak to me.
Old Lady. To you Sir?
'Tis more than time: All occasions set aside Sir,
Or whatsoever may be thought a business—
Din. What then?
Old Lady. Repair to me within this hour.
Cler. Where?
O. Lady. What's that to you? come you, Sir, when y'are sent for.
Cler. God a mercy Mumpsimus,
You may goe Dinant, and follow this old Fairie,
Till you have lost your self, your friends, your credit,
And Hunt away your youth in rare adventures,
I can but grieve I have known you.
Old Lady. Will ye goe Sir?
I come not often to you with these blessings,
You m[a]y believe that thing there, and repent it,
That dogged thing.
Cler. Peace touchwood.
Din. I will not goe:
Goe bid your Lady seek some fool to fawn on her,
Some unexperienc'd puppie to make sport with,
I have been her mirth too long, thus I shake from me
The fetters she put on; thus her enchantments
I blow away like wind, no more her beauty—
Old Lady. Take heed Sir what you say.
Cler. Goe forward, Dinant.
Din. The charms shot from her eyes—
Old Lady. Be wise.
Cler. Be Valiant.
Din. That tongue that tells fair tales to mens destructions
Shall never rack me more.
Old Lady. Stay there.
Cler. Goe forward.
Din. I will now hear her, see her as a woman,
Survey her, and the power man has allow'd, Sir,
As I would do the course of common things,
Unmov'd, unstruck.
Cler. Hold there, and I forgive thee.
Din. She is not fair, and that that makes her proud,
Is not her own, our eyes bestow it on her,
To touch and kiss her is no blessedness,
A Sun-burnt Ethiops lip's as soft as her's.
Goe bid her stick some other triumph up,
And take into her favour some dull fool,
That has no pretious time to lose, no friends,
No honour, nor no life, like a bold Merchant,
A bold and banquerupt man, I have ventur'd all these,
And split my bottom: return this answer to her,
I am awake again and see her mischiefs,
And am not now, on every idle errand,
And new coyn'd anger, to be hurried,
And then despis'd again, I have forgot her.
Cler. If this be true—
O. Lady. I am sorry, I have troubled you,
More sorrie, that my Lady has adventur'd
So great a favour in so weak a mind:
This hour you have refus'd that when you come to know it,
Will run you mad, and make you curse that fellow,
She is not fair, nor handsom, so I leave you.
Cler. Stay Lady, stay, but is there such a business?
O. Lady. You would break your neck 'twere yours.
Cler. My back, you would say.
O. La. But play the friends part still, Sir, and undoe him,
'Tis a fair office.
Din. I have spoke too liberally.
O. Lady. I shall deliver what you say.
Cler. You shall be hang'd first,
You would fain be prating now; take the man with you.
O. Lady. Not I, I have no power.
Cler. You may goe Dinant.
O. Lady. 'Tis in's own will, I had no further charge, Sir,
Than to tell him what I did, which if I had thought
It should have been receiv'd so—
Cler. 'Faith you may,
You do not know how far it may concern you.
If I perceiv'd any trick in't.
Din. 'Twill end there.
Cler. 'Tis my fault then, there is an hour in fortune,
That must be still observ'd: you think I'le chide you,
When things must be, nay see, an he will hold his head up?
Would such a Lady send, with such a charge too?
Say she has plaid the fool, play the fool with her again,
The great fool, the greater still the better.
He shall goe with you woman.
Old Lady. As it please him,
I know the way alone else.
Din. Where is your Lady?
O. Lady. I shall direct you quickly.
Din. Well, I'le goe,
But what her wrongs will give me leave to say.
Cler. We'll leave that to your selves: I shall hear from you.
Din. As soon as I come off—
Cler. Come on then bravely;
Farewel till then, and play the man.
Din. You are merry;
All I expect is scorn: I'le lead you Lady. [Exeunt severally.
Actus Tertius. Scena Prima.
Enter Champernel, Lamira, Beaupre, Verdone, Charlotte.
Beaup. We'l venture on him.
Cham. Out of my doors I charge thee, see me no more.
Lami. Your Nephew?
Cham. I disclaim him,
He has no part in me, nor in my blood,
My Brother that kept fortune bound, and left
Conquest hereditary to his Issue
Could not beget a coward.
Verd. I fought, Sir,
Like a good fellow, and a Souldier too,
But men are men, and cannot make their fates:
Ascribe you to my Father what you please,
I am born to suffer.
Cham. All disgraces wretch.
Lam. Good Sir be patient.
Cham. Was there no tree,
(For to fall by a noble enemies sword,
A Coward is unworthy) nor no River,
To force thy life out backward or to drown it,
But that thou must survive thy i[n]famie?
And kill me with the sight of one I hate,
And gladly would forget?
Beaup. Sir, his misfortune
Deserves not this reproof.
Cham. In your opinion,
'Tis fit you two should be of one belief,
You are indeed fine gallants, and fight bravely
I'th' City with your tongues, but in the field
Have neither spirit to dare nor power to do,
Your swords are all lead there.
Beaup. I know no duty,
(How ever you may wreak your spleen on him,)
That bindes me to endure this.
Cham. From Dinant
You'l suffer more; that ever cursed I,
Should give my honour up, to the defence
Of such a thing as he is, or my Lady
That is all Innocent, for whom a dove would
Assume the courage of a daring Eagle,
Repose her confidence in one that can
No better guard her. In contempt of you
I love Dinant, mine enemy, nay admire him,
His valour claims it from me, and with justice,
He that could fight thus, in a cause not honest,
His sword edg'd with defence of right and honour,
Would pierce as deep as lightning, with that speed too,
And kill as deadly.
Verd. You are as far from justice
In him you praise, as equitie in the censure
You load me with.
Beaup. Dinant? he durst not meet us.
Lam. How? durst not, Brother?
Beaup. Durst not, I repeat it.
Verd. Nor was it Cleremont's valour that disarm'd us,
I had the better of him; for Dinant,
If that might make my peace with you, I dare
Write him a Coward upon every post,
And with the hazard of my life defend it.
Lam. If 'twere laid at the stake you'd lose it, Nephew.
Cham. Came he not, say you?
Verd. No, but in his room,
There was a Devil, hir'd from some Magician
I'th' shape of an Atturney.
Beau. 'Twas he did it.
Verd. And his the honour.
Beau. I could wish Dinant—
But what talk I of one that stept aside,
And durst not come?
Lam. I am such a friend to truth,
I cannot hear this: why do you detract
Thus poorly (I should say to others basely)
From one of such approv'd worth?
Cham. Ha! how's this?
Lam. From one so excellent in all that's noble,
Whose only weakness is excess of courage?
That knows no enemies, that he cannot master,
But his affections, and in them, the worst
His love to me.
Cham. To you?
Lam. Yes, Sir, to me,
I dare (for what is that which Innocence dares not)
To you profess it: and he shun'd not the Combat
For fear or doubt of these: blush and repent,
That you in thought e're did that wrong to valour.
Beaup. Why, this is rare.
Cham. 'Fore heaven, exceeding rare;
Why modest Lady, you that sing such Encomiums
Of your first Suiter—
Verd. How can ye convince us
In your reports?
Lam. With what you cannot answer,
'Twas my command that staid him.
Cham. Your command?
Lam. Mine, Sir, and had my will rank'd with my power,
And his obedience, I could have sent him
With more ease, weaponless to you, and bound,
Than have kept him back, so well he loves his honour
Beyond his life.
Cham. Better, and better still.
Lam. I wrought with him in private to divert him
From your assur'd destruction, had he met you.
Cham. In private?
Lam. Yes, and us'd all Arts, all Charms
Of one that knew her self the absolute Mistris
Of all his faculties.
Cham. Gave all rewards too
His service could deserve; did not he take
The measure of my sheets?
Lam. Do not look yellow,
I have cause to speak; frowns cannot fright me,
By all my hopes, as I am spotless to you,
If I rest once assur'd you do but doubt me,
Or curb me of that freedom you once gave me—
Cham. What then?
Lam. I'le not alone abuse your bed, that's nothing,
But to your more vexation, 'tis resolv'd on,
I'le run away, and then try if Dinant
Have courage to defend me.
Champ. Impudent!
Verd. And on the sudden—
Beau. How are ye transform'd
From what you were?
Lam. I was an innocent Virgin,
And I can truly swear, a Wife as pure
As ever lay by Husband, and will dy so,
Let me live unsuspected, I am no servant,
Nor will be us'd like one: If you desire
To keep me constant as I would be, let
Trust and belief in you beget and nurse it;
Unnecessary jealousies make more whores
Than all baits else laid to entrap our frailties.
Beau. There's no contesting with her, from a child
Once mov'd, she hardly was to be appeas'd,
Yet I dare swear her honest.
Cham. So I think too,
On better judgement: I am no Italian
To lock her up; nor would I be a Dutchman,
To have my Wife, my soveraign, to command me:
I'le try the gentler way, but if that fail,
Believe it, Sir, there's nothing but extreams
Which she must feel from me.
Beau. That, as you please, Sir.
Charl. You have won the breeches, Madam, look up sweetly,
My Lord limps toward you.
Lam. You will learn more manners.
Charl. This is a fee, for counsel that's unask'd for.
Cham. Come, I mistook thee sweet, prethee forgive me,
I never will be jealous: e're I cherish
Such a mechanick humour, I'le be nothing;
I'le say, Dinant is all that thou wouldst have him,
Will that suffice?
Lam. 'Tis well, Sir.
Cham. Use thy freedom
Uncheck'd, and unobserv'd, if thou wilt have it,
These shall forget their honour, I my wrongs.
We'll all dote on him, hell be my reward
If I dissemble.
Lam. And that hell take me
If I affect him, he's a lustfull villain,
(But yet no coward) and sollicites me
To my dishonour, that's indeed a quarrel,
And truly mine, which I will so revenge,
As it shall fright such as dare only think
To be adulterers.
Cham. Use thine own waies,
I give up all to thee.
Beau. O women, women!
When you are pleas'd you are the least of evils.
Verd. I'le rime to't, but provokt, the worst of Devils. [Exeunt.
Enter Monsieur Sampson, and three Clients.
Samp. I know Monsieur La-writ.
1 Cly. Would he knew himself, Sir.
Samp. He was a pretty Lawyer, a kind of pretty Lawyer,
Of a kind of unable thing.
2 Cly. A fine Lawyer, Sir,
And would have firk'd you up a business,
And out of this Court into that.
Samp. Ye are too forward
Not so fine my friends, something he could have done,
But short short.
1 Cly. I know your worships favour,
You are Nephew to the Judge, Sir.
Samp. It may be so,
And something may be done, without trotting i'th' dirt, friends;
It may be I can take him in his Chamber,
And have an hours talk, it may be so,
And tell him that in's ear; there are such courtesies;
I will not say, I can.
3 Cly. We know you can, Sir.
Sam. Peradventure I, peradventure no: but where's La-writ?
Where's your sufficient Lawyer?
1 Cly. He's blown up, Sir.
2 Cly. Run mad and quarrels with the Dog he meets;
He is no Lawyer of this world now.
Sam. Your reason?
Is he defunct? is he dead?
2 Cly. No he's not dead yet, Sir;
But I would be loth to take a lease on's life for two hours:
Alas, he is possest Sir, with the spirit of fighting
And quarrels with all people; but how he came to it—
Samp. If he fight well and like a Gentleman,
The man may fight, for 'tis a lawfull calling.
Look you my friends, I am a civil Gentleman,
And my Lord my Uncle loves me.
3 Cly. We all know it, Sir.
Sam. I think he does, Sir, I have business too, much business,
Turn you some forty or fifty Causes in a week;
Yet when I get an hour of vacancie,
I can fight too my friends, a little does well,
I would be loth to learn to fight.
1 Cly. But and't please you Sir,
His fighting has neglected all our business,
We are undone, our causes cast away, Sir,
His not appearance.
Sam. There he fought too long,
A little and fight well, he fought too long indeed friends;
But ne'r the less things must be as they may,
And there be wayes—
1 Cly. We know, Sir, if you please—
Sam. Something I'le do: goe rally up your Causes.